


Turf and Tagging

by kopycat_101



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends, Flirting, Friendship, Gang Member Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Lila is the rival gang leader but doesn't appear in-fic, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Someone’s been tagging their turf as of late. Evillustrator. They leave amazing street art, where every inch dripped with personality, with life, with excellence.But they’re like a ghost. No one’s ever caught them.One day, Marc does.(Gang AU, Marcnath, gang member!Marc and tagger/street artist!Nathaniel.)
Relationships: Marc Anciel & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: MarcNath Fics!





	Turf and Tagging

* * *

Marc is used to driving away dumbass taggers from his gang’s turf who thought they were tough shit. Usually a little showmanship with his butterfly knife gets them to run away, pissing their pants and with their tail between their legs.

There’s one tagger Marc doesn’t mind, though.

He’s not sure of the other’s name. Just knows them by their signature when they tag. ‘Evillustrator’.

Whoever they are, Evillustrator can do amazing things with a spray paint can, things Marc’s never seen before. They’re good. More than good, even. They’re one of the best street artists in Paris, Marc has no doubt.

The way the artist uses colors, the vibrancy of it all. The blending, the crisp lines, the shading. The movement, the flow, the way the images led the eye around the entire piece. Every inch was dripping with personality, with life, with excellence.

A mural of the Chinese zodiac. A woman in red who flies across the Parisian skyline and into battle against muggers. A cat-like man in a leather catsuit with glowing green eyes looking like he’s tearing his way through the brick wall with his claws. Shadows coalescing into a person with a helmet for a head, in the middle of a street full of neon lights. A man with flame-like hair and angel wings who draws an enlarged moon, brought to life, floating above the Seine.

It was pure art. That, Marc knows.

He wishes he knew who Evillustrator was. Not even to threaten them for going on his gang’s turf, but ask them how they fucking do it. They’re like a ghost; no one’s ever caught them.

They’re able to make masterpieces in such little time, too, like some sort of fucking street art Da Vinci of some kind. Marc _swears_ they’re pulling out paint brushes and shit to help render it, but the tags are all smooth spray paint, without any sort of tampering in sight.

At this point, Marc just wants to catch a glimpse. Just so he knows the other is real.

* * *

Marc gets his wish two weeks later.

He’s making his usual rounds. Just to keep up the perimeter, making sure the Rossi Gang isn’t trying to encroach on their borders. He wouldn’t put it past them, since Volpina is a slippery and sly bitch that likes to test her luck constantly…

He’s about halfway through his patrol, when he hears it. The shake and rattle and hiss of a spray can in action.

The dark-haired young man just rolls his eyes and readies his butterfly knife as he stalks forwards. Another dumbass wanting to tag their turf, he thinks at first.

But then he rounds the corner in a half-crouch and pauses, stock-still. And he stares.

A masterpiece unfolds in front of his very eyes, even at the angle he’s in. It’s of a figure that Evillustrator has used before, a man with flame-like hair and angel wings. This time, he’s flying above the skyline of Paris, painting the stars in the night sky into existence with his brush.

The artist himself, however, is even more breathtaking. At least, Marc thinks he’s a man, considering the other’s broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, the large palms with dexterous fingers, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he arches his head back to take in the monument he’s creating.

This is Evillustrator. Marc’s watching Evillustrator create his street art. Watching as Evillustrator arcs his arms widely, spraying with precise strokes, constantly in motion as he creates. Almost like a dancer, a conductor, art on the wall and art in his every movement.

Marc stares, noting the gas mask covering most of the other’s face, including a black eye mask. The black beanie doesn’t manage to hide the artist’s bright red hair spilling out. It’s the only bit of color on the artist, as he’s wearing rather inconspicuous dark clothing. Can’t be fashionable and stand out, when you’re trying to sneak around and do something illegal, Marc supposes.

The gang member is so enthralled, he gets out of his crouch. And then completely trips over his feet, ramming into the dumpster he’d been hidden behind with a loud, metallic thud.

Marc freezes in place, internally screaming at his rookie mistake. Evillustrator whirls around, staring back at him with gorgeous blue eyes behind the face mask, wide and horrified.

The two stand there, frozen, for a good ten seconds. Just staring at each other.

Marc realizes he still has his butterfly knife in his hand, skin of his palms sweaty and turning the metal warm and slick. The weapon is probably what makes the artist abandon his spray paint cans, turn on his heel, and sprint away.

“Wait…!” Marc calls, thrusting out a hand, heart thrumming in his throat before smash-landing into his stomach with dread.

The other glances over his shoulder, blue eyes meeting green.

And then Evillustrator is gone, turning the corner and disappearing from Marc’s line of sight.

* * *

Marc doesn’t stop internally beating himself up for his stupidity.

He had a chance…! A chance no one else did! He saw Evillustrator with his very own eyes!

And damn, was Evillustrator not only talented…He was pretty cute, too. Seriously, those eyes were such a gorgeous shade of sea blue, and that hair was as vibrant as a flame, and he was even on the shorter side for a guy, which was adorable—

And, oh. Oh no. Marc’s actually got a crush on Evillustrator. Fuck.

Well, he ruined any chance of speaking with the street artist…When’s he ever going to get another? Probably never.

* * *

Marc sits in a corner table in the Dupain-Cheng Bakery and hunches over his notebook, scribbling furiously, pen flying across the pages in a flurry.

He’s frustrated. There’s a constant cycle of scenarios that play out in his mind, of how his interaction with Evillustrator could have gone differently. These thoughts are plaguing him nonstop, begging for him to free them from the confines of his mind.

So that’s what he’s doing. He’s taking the time to write each and every scenario down. They range from simple to fantastical. As simple as Evillustrator pausing before he ran away, or him stalling enough for Marc to tell him his work is amazing. To fantastical as Evillustrator asking Marc to be his muse for his newest street art piece, asking for Marc to abandon the gang to go with him as his partner in crime—

Yeah, no. That one was …Embarrassingly self-indulgent, even he can admit it.

Marc knows he’s being ridiculous, acting like some sort of pining schoolboy, but…Hell, he doesn’t really have much outside of his family, the Miraculous Gang, and his hobby of writing. The gang members are all his friends, and they’re like family to him, too. They took him in when he was in a bad spot, and they gave him purpose and protection. He pretty much grew up with them, fought alongside them, bled for them. He wouldn’t trade them for anything.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep secrets from them, of course. Just like any sort of family, everyone has things they don’t tell their brothers and sisters.

Marc’s definitely _not_ going to tell any of the other gang members about catching Evillustrator in the act, because that would put both of them under fire. The gang might even crack down in catching Evillustrator, knowing that he’s been seen once, and Marc doesn’t want the other to get hurt.

“Marc, would you like something else? Another muffin? A refill, maybe?”

The dark-haired young man jolts out of his reverie, hunching over his notebook and looking up at Marinette’s mother. He gives a smile and a small, “No thank you, ma’am”, quickly shoving the notebook in his hoodie and making to stand.

“If you’re sure…Have a good day, dear,” Mrs. Cheng tells him warmly.

“Thank you. You too,” Marc smiles back at her awkwardly, trying to appear innocent and decidedly-not-a-gang-member.

The gang member pockets his pen and moves to exit the bakery, eyes catching on something vibrant at one of the other tables. He does a double-take, because he _swears_ he saw red hair. But all he sees is someone in a beanie holding up a sketchbook to survey their work, most of their head blocked by the cover.

Marc feels slight disappointment, berating himself internally as he turns back around and exits the bakery proper. He’s so obsessed with Evillustrator, he’s seeing things now. Great.

* * *

Marinette sees Marc moping around for far too long—almost two weeks total, in fact— and subsequently has a little talk with him.

“You’ve been working hard, Marc,” Marinette says kindly, an odd gleam in her crinkled eyes. “Maybe you should take a little break from maintaining our border. You can go and double-check our families’ businesses, see if things look okay around the area.”

“Y-You sure…?” Marc asks hedgingly, fiddling with his fingerless gloves.

“I’m sure,” she smiles back, with a little laugh. “Maybe stop by the bakery for a bit. Mom’s been wondering about you.”

He bites his lip, considering, before answering with an awkward, “Oh…Um, alright. If you’re sure…”

So Marinette sends him out to do rounds in some of the easier parts of their territory. 

Marc is grateful for the lenient patrol route, if embarrassed. He doesn’t want to be a liability to the gang. He may be a higher-ranking member, but he doesn’t want to put any pressure on the rest of the members if he’s off his game.

Nothing happens that day, with his new and temporary patrol route. He drops by the bakery, like Marinette had suggested, for a quick snack.

Mrs. Cheng smiles at him as she hands over his order of a mixed-berry scone, eyes gleaming. “A boy was here the other day, you know. He was wondering if you were a model.”

“A model?” Marc blinks back, confused. He looks down at his clothing, the ripped-up skinny jeans and faded punk band t-shirt and scuffed-up combat boots. Marc looks less like a model and more like someone who’s in a grunge band, he knows. Odd for someone to ask him that. Or well, ask something about him like that, in this case. “Huh. Weird. When was this, exactly…?”

“Oh, the boy asked, hm…I think it was the last time you were in the bakery,” Mrs. Cheng giggles, head tilted and a finger against her chin in a ‘thinking pose’ of sorts. “He looked to be very inspired. I think he even drew you, though I can’t quite be sure, since he seemed very private about his sketchbook.”

“R-Really?” Marc asks, staring back at the woman, a little off kilter. “That’s…huh.”

The gang member is both flattered and unnerved. Was he so out of it, he hadn’t even noticed something like this…? An artist drawing his portrait would be pretty obvious, right?

Man, he needs to work on his observational skills. Complacency and distraction to such a degree could cost him dearly, especially while on the streets…

“Well, I’ve got to go, ma’am. Just picking this up for a study session,” he tells her politely with an apologetic smile, completely lying to her face. Marc hasn’t studied for schoolwork since middle school, and his grades were still all straight A’s, which was enough to grant him a full-ride scholarship to the nearest Parisian university. He had perfect plausible deniability from being a gang member, because gang members couldn’t possibly be studious university students, no siree.

“Good luck with studying, dear,” Mrs. Cheng giggles at him, waving goodbye.

As Marc leaves the bakery, he’s left wondering whose attention he’s attracted. And hopes he doesn’t attract it again, for his own sake and theirs…

* * *

Another day, another easy patrol. It’s been three days since the newest route, of learning that an artist drew his portrait without him noticing.

He almost wishes it had been Evillustrator to do it, off in disguise as a wallflower art student and law-abiding citizen. But, no. The chances of that were slim to none.

He probably just caught the eye of a local art student or something. Someone he’ll never meet again, a happenstance crossing of paths.

But wouldn’t it be romantic if…

No. No, that’s impossible and unrealistic, Marc. Get your head in the game.

* * *

It’s day five, and Marc’s bored and a little stir crazy.

He likes the break, really, he does! But there’s only so many times he can walk around playing little nice university boy to all their families’ businesses, smiling sweetly and pretending he’s innocent as a goddamn angel, before it all leaves a sour-sweet taste in his mouth, like acrid vomit that’s been sitting for days to fester.

At the very least, he’s been having some good food, as of late. These areas have more restaurants and the like, so he can actually get decent stuff for lunch and dinner instead of the pre-packaged gas store shit he gets at the gang’s base. Being in a gang takes time and money, so most of them had to settle for prebought lunches that could be bought in bulk, unless someone like Marinette or Kim brings in leftovers that were going to be thrown away for food safety reasons.

Marc considers dropping by Kim’s parent’s restaurant for a late lunch—their Pho is to die for and the absolute best in Paris—when he hears the distinctive clatter and hiss of a spray paint can.

The dark-haired young man stealthily creeps forwards. It’s odd, to find a tagger so far into their territory…Especially at this time of day.

When he carefully creeps down the alley, though, he freezes in place.

Evillustrator. It’s Evillustrator again.

The tagger isn’t wearing a gas mask this time, though. Just a normal black face mask. More inconspicuous, coupled with that black beanie, plus paint-splattered black leggings and a white tank top with a black-striped pattern.

He looks almost…casual, like this. Homely. Relaxed. Marc feels like he’s not even supposed to be here, to see the other casually spray-paint a mosaic of black and white on the wall. Like he’s on a lunch break and just wanted to do something with it.

A figure unfurls, a man wearing a large hood, split black and white down the middle. His hands are outstretched, palm-down with painted black nails. Sheets of paper whirl about him, some shaped into spears or paper airplanes. The only bit of color to the entire piece are his emerald eyes, which peak out behind the hood and floating paper, his lips painted black and pulled back in a wild and crooked smile.

Marc feels his heart trip in his chest, because he has green eyes too. But, no, that’s impossible. It must be some sort of stylistic choice, right…? Evillustrator’s given other characters jewel-colored eyes before.

But the shape of the hooded man’s face… the shape of the eyes, the arch and thickness of the eyebrows, the curve of the nose, the plumpness of the lips…the messy strands of dark hair that peak out of the hood and fall over the forehead…

It all looks almost familiar…

Evillustrator pauses in his tagging, yanking the face mask down to lean in and squint, clicking his tongue and muttering under his breath. Wow, did Evillustrator have a nice face, Marc is quick to notice. Roman nose, rounded jawline, and angular eyebrows. Handsome enough that if he ever showed his face alongside his street art instead of staying anonymous, he’d get tons of attention.

But Marc can’t be distracted by pretty face. He has a job to do.

So the gang member takes in a deep breath, and then steps out into the middle of the alley. “It’s dangerous for you to be here.”

The artist jumps and whirls around, staring back in pure shock. But he’s frozen completely in place, hand still half-outstretching with his spray paint can, face going deathly pale.

He’s not wearing an eye mask. He has freckles that stand out stark against his pale face. They’re very charming, especially coupled with the ‘oh shit’ expression of pure panic.

Marc tries to play it cool as he goes on with, “I’m not going to hurt you. Evillustrator, right? You’ve been doing a lot of art in our turf lately.”

“I…I didn’t—I’m sorry,” the other says waveringly, voice surprisingly deep for his petite stature. “I’ll stop—”

“You’ve already tagged here,” Marc points out with a raised eyebrow. The artist flushes pink, hunching his shoulders, looking mortified. “And I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you that it’s dangerous. We usually don’t take kindly to strangers when we catch them tagging on our turf.”

“How…How strict are you usually?” Evillustrator asks warily, but he doesn’t look liable to start running anytime soon. Good. This is already _leagues_ better than their last encounter.

“Usually? Pretty strict,” Marc admits, quickly adding when he sees the artist’s eyes widen in panic, “But that’s only really when it comes to rival gang members. We’re honestly more impressed by the fact that you’ve managed to not be caught by us this long.”

At least, Marc personally is. He’s not sure about what everyone else thinks. Kim thinks Evillustrator is cool, but Kim is cool with a lot of things. Nino is always chill no matter what. Marinette seems tolerant enough, and she thinks the tags are good. But Marc has heard Alya say she wants to get a piece of Evillustrator for his sneakiness, and Nora’s grumbled about bashing Evillustrator’s head in, so obviously not _everyone_ has a positive opinion of him.

The artist relaxes again, shoulders lowering as he breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh. That’s…good.”

“Your tags are amazing, though,” the dark-haired young man says, trying for genuine, nodding to the wall next to the redhead. “The movement, the expressions, the attitudes, they’re all…incredible, really.”

The redhead bites his lip and fiddles with his bangs, cheeks rosy. “I…Really? You think so?”

“They’re some of the best art I’ve ever seen,” Marc tells him seriously while meeting his eyes squarely.

The artist’s entire face flushes a dark pink, freckles hiding under his blush. “Th-that—we literally live in Paris. We have the Louvre _right here_.”

“Oh, I’ve been to the Louvre,” Marc admits with a shrug, crossing his arms and popping his hip. “Mona Lisa ain’t shit compared to what you create on a regular basis. I’ve tried double-checking to see if you use paint brushes or something, but no, you’re just _that_ insanely talented with spray paint.”

The artist gapes back at him, face steadily darkening to match his red hair. Holy _shit_ , is that fucking adorable. Has no one ever complimented Evillustrator on his art before…?

Well, considering how he keeps anonymous, so he won’t be jailed for vandalism, maybe he hasn’t. That’s a damn shame.

“Th-thanks,” Evillustrator finally ends up saying after a few seconds, voice rather breathy. “That’s—that’s nice of you to say.”

“No problem. You really should be praised for your work. It’s just…” the dark-haired young man starts slowly. He’s a bit sad to bring the atmosphere down, but it’s something he needs to do. He needs to warn the artist. “The gang, for the most part, likes them. But tagging in a gang’s turf is usually a huge offense. You’re lucky you haven’t been caught before.”

“O-oh. Um,” the redhead fidgets with the can in his hand, biting his lip and glancing back at the dirtied brick wall he transformed with his art. “I…I never realized that. I just saw the buildings and got inspired…”

Ah, prissy little white boys. They never know these sort of things. Evillustrator was probably some art student in a big, hot-shot arts university in Paris. Someone that never lived in this part of the city, never knew the social do’s and don’ts, of gangs and turf wars.

“Well, now you know,” Marc sighs, giving the other an apologetic smile. “Starting south-west of Stalingrad, plus most of 10th Arr. belongs to the Miraculous Gang—that’s us, by the way. South-east of Stalingrad and the 19th Arr. belongs to the Rossi Gang, headed by Volpina. Fucking Italians and their bullshit mafia shenanigans…”

Evillustrator seems to take in his words, ignoring his grumbling about the rival gang.

“I see…So I’ve been tagging in your territory, then,” the artist says with a wince.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Marc agrees, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning. “I mean, _I_ personally am not complaining. But you’re playing a very dangerous game here.”

The redhead seems to wilt, head tilted down and looking up at Marc through his fine lashes. “I…I really do enjoy working in this area, though…Is there some way I can—I dunno—ask permission to keep tagging here? From the—from your gang? The Miraculous Gang…?”

Marc instantly wants to say yes, because seeing the cute artist look so downtrodden, like some sort of kicked puppy, is killing him. His professional side wants him to tell the other a flat-out no, because Evillustrator has been dancing over their rules for months now. No matter how amazing his street art, he can’t just get away with this.

Marc, however, is incredibly gay and weak when it comes to cute boys.

Instead of flat-out saying yes or no, he instead says, “That’s a question I’d have to take to my boss.” As if he’s working a fucking customer-service, minimum-wage job.

Evillustrator perks up, standing up straight and beaming back at him, sea-blue eyes gleaming. “You’d do that? You’d ask your boss for me?”

“ _I’d do a lot for you_ ,” Marc thinks, but doesn’t say aloud, because _wow_ is that intense. _Jesus_ , he never even noticed his crush getting to this sort of level before now. He’s always admired the other’s art, and began daydreaming often ever since first seeing him in person, but still…

“Sure, I’ll ask. But that doesn’t mean my boss will agree,” the gang member warns, feeling a little nervous and a lot charmed. “You’ll have to stop tagging for a bit until I can get a meeting and an answer. If you tag and get caught by someone that isn’t me—”

“Thank you!” Evillustrator blurts, doing a little dance in place and clasping his spray can between his hands as he goes on with a string of, “Thank you thank you thank you…!”

Marc finds himself exceedingly charmed, and a little flustered. “H-Hey, don’t thank me just yet. I haven’t even gotten to it…”

“Still! You’re giving me a chance! And you’re willing to help me! Even if things don’t work out and I have to move to a different area, I can’t thank you enough for trying,” the redhead tells him warmly, so bluntly honest it hits Marc with the full force of a baseball bat.

“Um, no problem…” the gang member replies dazedly.

“What’s your name?” Evillustrator asks with a smile.

“Ma—” the dark-haired young man pauses, internally berating himself for almost giving away his real name. Damn, was the artist so disarming! “Um. I’m Reverser. That’s my gang name.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Reverser,” Evillustrator says warmly, tucking his long bangs behind his ear. Oh, he had some neat piercings, too. Interesting.

“Likewise. It’s nice to meet my favorite artist,” Marc replies with a crooked grin, pleased to see the other’s face go pink.

“I-I, um. I should g-get going,” the artist stutters out, averting his eyes shyly and fiddling with the spray can in his hands. Cute.

“Alright, I should too,” Marc admits, carefully striding towards the flustered artist. “I can escort you out, if you’d like?”

“N-No, no, I’ve got it!” the other insists, waving a hand about as he crouches down to collect his things. “I’ve done it plenty before…”

An idea hits Marc when the other turns around to leave. “If you get caught before then, just say you’re friends with Reverser! That might get you off the hook.”

The artist pauses, turning slight to shoot Marc a grateful smile over his shoulder, cheeks still flushed a rosy hue. “Thank you, Reverser. I’ll see you in a few weeks…?”

“Yeah. See you.”

Marc doesn’t leave his spot until Evillustrator disappears from his line of sight. Even then, he never stops smiling.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Did some research for this. This is the area where I made the 'gangs' be in: https://joinusinfrance.com/episode/dicey-paris-neighborhoods-episode-194/#:~:text=This%20is%20not%20to%20say,%2C%20Danube%2C%20Place%20des%20F%C3%AAtes.
> 
> There are actual gangs in Paris, and yes, one of them is Italian. I had to make Lila be the head of that one, because it fit too well.
> 
> Nathaniel as a tagger specifically based on starrycove's old Breakdance AU, found here:  
> https://starrycove.tumblr.com/post/161271011775/also-been-thinkin-about-my-son-a-lot#notes  
> https://starrycove.tumblr.com/post/142080008545/prep-u-used-this-lil-punk-to-test-out-a-quick#notes  
> https://starrycove.tumblr.com/post/141174877785/some-break-dancin-nath-0c-art-student-by-day#notes  
> https://starrycove.tumblr.com/post/141183234930/all-better-u#notes


End file.
